


Transfer

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Heart Wants What It Wants, i actually have no idea what i'm doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Leaving one Kingdom for the next great opportunity is supposed to be part of the grand game. The sooner Luke accepts his new home, the better. This is for the best.A sort of "Medieval/Low Fantasy" AU with footballers as exhibition Knights traded between royal courts. See notes for more info...





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t understand,” Luke flopped back onto the bank of plush, red and white couches, his legs thrown unceremoniously over one armrest and his hands covering his face. Stuffed with goose down, the couches were meant merely for decoration, not to bear weight. Ungracefully, he began to sink into the cushions. 

Adam, nearly eight years his senior, gingerly sat beside Luke’s head, keeping his hands folded in his lap. “This is the way it has always been. You are not the only one who will be departing.”

Luke groaned, refusing to move his hands away from his face or adjust his posture. Bright daylight streamed in from the high paned windows overhead, reflecting back against the polished palace floors. “We did so well at the tournament this year,” Luke complained, “I thought for certain…”

“Doing well, but not winning, is more a curse, in this regard, than failing outright,” Adam smiled. Luke only caught the gesture through his splayed fingers. “There have been many bids. And it is in the Kingdom’s best interests to accept the highest.”

Still ungainly in his youth, Luke rolled from his back to his stomach, propping his face up in his arms, “What of you?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, “I am to depart as well. They are still bidding.”

“I’m sure you’ll end up somewhere wonderful,” Luke said, bitterness creeping into his voice. Though their events and skillsets in combat were wildly different, Luke admired the older man a great deal. Adam was small, almost soft, and upon first meeting him, Luke could barely understand how he had reached the rank of Knight, much less excelled at the games. But what he lacked in physical presence, Adam more than made up for in sheer skill. 

Adam shoved at Luke’s shoulder, trying to encourage the youth. “You are a much more attractive prospect than I, I hope you know?”

Defensively minded Knights typically were not as sought after as the flashier offensive attackers. Crowds came for the promise of blood-sport, not those who denied them their satisfaction. Luke, for what it was worth, had often been told that he was too rash, too attack minded, and it would one day cost the front line when he ultimately faltered. But for now, he was still young and quick enough to compensate. 

Luke groaned, “Do not lie to make me feel better.”

Adam leaned back against the couch, spreading his arms over the backrest. Being decorative, the pressure almost broke the couch in two. They would have to be more careful. “I am an old man,” Adam chided, “And you are young. I’d put coin on you fetching a better price than I.”

Biting his bottom lip, Luke asked, “Do you not fear it? Being sent away from your home?”

The skin between Adam’s eyes furrowed in concentration, “We are paid for our homes to be with the King we fight for at the moment. Do not forget that, Luke. You should always smile for your King, and praise him and his subjects for the opportunities you are given.” His expression softened, “It will get easier, in time.”

Luke hoped so.

\--

They were not held in bondage, so in the end, Luke was allowed to confirm or veto his exchange. The paperwork was laid out before him, a bookkeeper and advisor to give him counsel on his decision. It was a very, very good deal, they insisted. Luke’s family would be taken care of for many years. He would live in comfort, for many years. And, of course, his current King would receive compensation for having handled Luke’s training.

He asked the advisor, quite innocently, really, what of the others? Had they signed as well? The advisor dismissed his concerns with the wave of his hand, “They will. But you must think of yourself, your future.”

Luke signed.

\--

The ship took him East. Adam traveled North. The others, scattered across the known Kingdoms. Luke would miss them. But Adam was right. He felt excitement bubbling in his chest. The opportunity to be someone greater than he already was, spinning around his head. 

Each day the ship grew steadier as Luke awaited his arrival.

\--

The air ashore was still crisp and full of salt, but it no longer stung at Luke’s nostrils. Over a matter of days, he felt himself an old hand at sleeping and living at sea. But that was nothing more than the bravado of youth, clinging to his skin, snuffing out his lingering hesitation. 

The docks were crowded, sailors working tirelessly to ready their ships for departure, or unload their goods for sale and transfer. No one paid the young Knight much mind, other than the boy aboard who had been tasked with retrieving Luke’s crates. Though it was certain his new King would wish to fit him in the armor of the Crown, Luke could not bear the idea of leaving his old things behind. And so, he had brought most everything. 

“Hello!” A man of about twenty-five with long, lightly curly brown hair, tied back into a neat bun, and pale, almost sallow skin, hurried over to greet Luke. A touch shorter than Luke, he was also quite a bit narrower, though still exceedingly fit. Perhaps a current Knight of the court, sent to retrieve him from the docks?

“Hello,” Luke waved back politely. He suddenly felt overdressed, with his tight breeches and sharply cut tunic. The clothes the other Knight wore were looser, less crisply tailored, hanging somewhat oversized from his shoulders and hips. 

The Knight offered his hand, “I’m Daley, and I take it you are Luke?”

Luke nodded, “Yes, how did you know?”

Daley smiled quite properly, “Because you do not look like a sailor. And I was informed that your ship had arrived. Come now!” he explained, eyeing the three crates delivered by the deck-boy. “We should head for the castle grounds.”

Daley ended up commandeering a cart, on behalf of the King, to help them get Luke’s crates back to the castle. Luke could see the imposing stone facade from the docks, situated not too far in the distance. The city between was situated on flat earth, all the way from the docks to the castle gates, and Daley remained chatty through the trip.

Luke endeavored to be polite. Truly, he was happy for the chatter, and answered all of Daley’s questions with great ease. He told Daley that he was nineteen, he specialized in defensive and support techniques, liked beer and starches and meat just fine. He was sure the local cuisine would suit him. He enjoyed music, both that played at court and the more rowdy tavern style. 

Daley spoke little of himself, other than saying he too worked primarily with defense and support. Though his training had been well rounded at his father's insistence. He could do a bit of everything, if called upon.

Luke decided that he liked Daley, even if he found him a bit reserved, despite his constant chatter. It was all directed to encourage Luke to speak, rather than reveal much of his own preferences or disposition. 

Upon arrival at the castle, the gatepeople greeted them stoically, referring to Daley as “Prince.” Surely not? Luke must have misheard?

But Daley flushed when addressed, red rising high on his pale cheeks. He did not acknowledge the title, but nonetheless, he did not correct it either. 

“Let us get your things unloaded,” Daley said tersely, “I will explain once we reach your quarters.”

Two servants assisted them in lugging Luke’s crates to his assigned quarters, a neatly decorated room with a clean bed, storage space, a desk in one corner, and easy access to a basin to wash his mouth and face in the evenings, if he did not wish to use the baths, which were in one of the outlying courtyard buildings.

While the servants insisted they would bring the crates, Daley would not listen, saying that it was proper of him to help. Luke could not let him go alone. Besides, Daley still owed Luke an explanation.

After all three crates were delivered, spread out across the floor for Luke to unpack later, Luke finally had a moment to ask, “So, you are the Prince, then?”

Daley winced slightly, “It is more complicated than that.”

“You said you would explain?”

“I will, I suppose you would find out sooner or later.” Daley took the desk chair, while Luke sat at the edge of his bed, splaying his legs apart so he would be comfortable.

“Our Kingship is not hereditary, but elected. The same goes for the title “Prince.” Kings are selected from a pool of former Princes, though the path is seldom direct. Often a former Prince will go a number of years before called upon for Election to the Kingship. That is all there is to it, I was elected as Prince two years ago, I will serve until the public is no longer willing to elect me. One day I may be King, though it is more likely that I will not be,” Daley explains. “My father was once a Prince as well. And he has been called for Election, but never won.”

“So, anyone could become Prince, or King? Or must you be from the right sort of family?”

“In theory, yes, anyone. There can also be many Princes simultaneously. As many as the public wills. Six months ago, a second Prince was elected, and my title was upheld as well. While my family is somewhat prominent, his is less so. So, yes, anyone is eligible.”

Luke did not quite understand the system, but it was perhaps unnecessary for his position as a Knight of the court. Still, he felt a great sadness for Daley, who did not seem at all comfortable with his position. “So you are both Prince, and a Knight?”

“Yes and no,” Daley frowned, “I have been trained, and I have fought in the games since Election. I believe the other Prince plans to continue fighting as well. But technically, I will not regain my title as Knight until my tenure as Prince has come to a close.”

Luke could not quite make the distinction, but he trusted Daley to at least be forthright with him.

“Well, I will leave you until supper. You are probably tired. There is no shame in resting until then.” 

Daley took his leave, allowing Luke to spend the rest of the afternoon as he pleased.

\--

When Luke was again interrupted, he was glad at least that he had changed into a looser shirt. The man at the door was tall, broad, with skin a light russet color, warm, but not overly dark. His black hair was clipped close, as was his patch of facial hair.

“Luke? I was told you had arrived?”

Jumping out of bed, Luke was quick to offer his hand, “Yes of course.”

The visitor shook it firmly, “I'm the Captain of the Knights here, you can call me Chris. On the grounds, Smalling.”

“Yes, of course,” Luke nodded sharply. He tried to remember what Adam had told him before departing. How he should always be gracious, take direction well, and only question commands when he thought the current plan of action would cause him undue harm. 

“Relax,” Chris smiled warmly, “I'm not here to admonish you. I just thought I would show you to supper? Unless you have mastered the halls of the castle already?”

“Oh,” Luke held one hand in front of his face, “of course, I just need my boots. Um,” he looked down at himself, and then the casual attire Chris wore, “Should I change?”

“No, no, it's not a public occasion. In three days you will be presented at court, but for now, this is only between those you will be working with. The King will not be there.”

Luke breathed a sigh of relief, bending down to lace his boots.

\--

Dinner was a raucous affair. Many months yet until the next games, the Knights drank freely and ate with little concern for their physiques. As the games approached, they would perhaps be more mindful of their habits, but for now, they wished only to enjoy themselves.

Chris introduced Luke to those seated around the table. Daley, whom he already knew, Juan and Ander, two slightly built, offensive Knights, though Ander insisted he could fend for himself. Juan made no such boasts, only smiling brightly about the possibility of Luke having his back. Anthony and Jesse, both offensive players. And young Marcus, who was still a year or two away from his first games, but eager to be included with the older men.

“He's ready now, if you ask me,” Chris said of Marcus, “but whether or not he competes, that is up to the King. You began before coming of age, did you not?”

Luke swallowed down his drink, warming as they waited for their food to arrive, “Yes, it's not so unusual, though?”

Chris agreed, adding that if Marcus said he was ready, he should be allowed on the field. 

The food had still not come when a final Knight came through the archway. Dressed plainly, like all the others, his broad shoulders stretched the corners of his tunic wide. Of average height, with a narrow nose bridge, flaring out to wide nostrils, his face was soft through his mouth and chin. He smiled faintly when addressing the assembled group apologizing for his tardiness and ducking towards the nearest open chair.

“That,” Chris pointed, “other than being tremendously ill mannered, is our other Prince.”

The Prince looked up, catching his eyes with Chris’, “Are you besmirching my good name?”

Laughing, Chris replied, “I thought you had that under control already. You didn't even notice our new addition.”

“Oh, sorry,” the Prince turned, smiling brightly at Luke and reaching his hand across the table. They both stood to properly reach, stretching across the gap between them. “Memphis.”

“Luke.”

They both returned to their seats and conversation with those around them. Ander pulled Luke’s attention away, asking how Luke liked his journey and what his home was like.

Before much longer, their food arrived, ushered in by servants on heaping platters. If this was considered a casual meal, Luke could not envision what the State dinners would be like.

Of course, Knights had been taken care of at home. But this was on a different sort of scale. As the night clambered on, Luke could not help the homesickness curling through his gut. He tried to remember Adam’s assurance that it would only get easier as he aged.

This was unlikely to be his last time leaving one home for another. Luke needed to learn. And everyone had been so kind to him, to the point of indulgence. It would be unseemly to appear anything but pleased. And so, he smiled.

\--

Somehow, being alone was easier. Upon retiring to his room, he washed up, paced, sat, paced again. Despite his agitation, it was easier, not having to draw back his emotions within himself.

Finding the floor of his room too constricting to consume his energy, Luke pulled on his cloak to keep the evening chill off his skin and resolved to walk the grounds. Pocketing his key once the door was locked, he set off in the direction he assumed led to the courtyard gardens. 

Halfway after hallway stretched before him, a network of right angles. He must have gone in a circle? Ending up roughly where he started. That was fine, he could start again. The gardens were not his priority, just an objective in the distance for him to chase after as a goal. 

Luke’s next path was less precise, though he made an effort to keep track of his turns, lest he get lost trying to return. The next hall lead him along a wall of heavy tapestries, not enough light from the moon outside to make out the scenes they depicted.

“Are you lost?” A voice called from the windowsill. Perched in one of the frames, feet against one side and back against the other, Prince Memphis curled his body into the thick windowsill.

Luke forced a smile, pushing at his hair to find something to do with his shaking hands. He had very much wanted to be alone. “No, not at all. I was only wishing to take a walk. I hope I have not disturbed you?”

Memphis turned back to look out the window, “No, not at all.”

Seemingly content enough with his own company, Memphis did not press Luke further. And with the barest acknowledgement of his departure, Luke continued with his walk.

\--

They were perhaps all a bit groggy at breakfast the next morning, so Luke was not chastised for the purple bags around his eyes or the slowness of his reactions. There would be time enough before morning training to get his head on straight.

He sat with Chris, Daley, and the other defensive Knights, simply out of convenience and comfort. They spoke easily with each other, their gestures growing larger as their excitement built.

After breakfast was morning training, expected to be light, still so far from the next games, without the King present, and still unsure of a number of transfers that could be taking place. 

Chris suggested they just run around a bit in their soft armor and wooden swords, sweat a little, then retire after lunch. There was no need to strain themselves, under these conditions.

Luke found a set of leathers waiting for him in the changing rooms. They fit a bit too snugly around his chest and hips, but they would be fine for practice.

“We can have them tailored better,” Prince Daley commented, upon seeing Luke jumping up and down to pull the breeches on over his thighs and hips. “Your measurements must have been imprecise.”

“Or the voyage made him soft,” Chris grabbed Luke at the waist, trying to pinch at fat that wasn't there.

On the field, wooden sword and shield in hand, Luke waited for instructions from one of the senior members regarding what position to adopt.

“Luke, hey!” Chris called from where he was speaking to Matteo on the right side of the field, “You prefer left in melee, correct?”

“Yes!” Luke called back.

Though Chris was captain of the Knights, and held the position with all the posture necessary, Daley was always intervening, picking up where Chris left off, as it was impossible to be everywhere at once. Luke wondered if Daley could not be Captain because of his title of Prince, but said nothing on the matter. 

“Why don't you cover Prince Memphis, then? He favors the left as well,” Daley suggested.

There was no reason to argue, so Luke crossed the field to speak with the young Prince. It was best if they had some conversation before the spar began. “I am to help shield you.”

“Oh,” there was that delicate frown again, tugging at the corners of Memphis’ mouth. “Alright then, but I should warn you. I'm usually too quick for my defenders.”

Luke couldn't help but smile at the unspoken accusation. “I'll do fine.”

The sparring session was fast and loose. No one swung with full force, but their strikes were quick. Memphis had not been exaggerating when he said he was fast, but Luke found it more an issue of the his rapid change of pace and direction, rather than outright foot speed. Luke was mostly able to keep up at three-quarters sprint. No one went full out.

They worked well together, Luke had to admit, not perfect. Even time could not produce perfection, that was the unachievable goal. But Luke did not find himself overrunning Memphis excessively, which had been one of the critiques against his form in tournaments past. Too aggressive, too ambitious for a defender. He's going to get his offense slaughtered. 

Even though the spar was only mock, Luke already believed that Memphis could hold his own, Luke overtaking him by mistake or not. But in any case, Luke felt, for once, like he had met an offense that was his match.

But time would tell. That was not a decision that would be made today, or even in the coming weeks. But, with his thoughts occupied by combat, Luke was no longer quite so terribly lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

The night again brought with it a ceaseless restlessness, a scattering displacement Luke could not shake. So, though he had already dressed for bed, Luke pulled his tunic back on, his breeches too, and padded out into the quiet hall.

 

This evening he knew which route not to take, though he was still uncertain how to reach the gardens he had seen through the castle’s windows, in the distance from the training grounds, and in flashes every place Luke went. The garden remained an unapproachable object in the distance.

 

Starting off down the hallway, Luke realized how foolish he must have looked, a cloak over his shoulders, but no shoes. He shuffled down the hallway, chasing moonlight through the window panes.

 

“Are you sure you are not lost?” Prince Memphis’ voice resonated from the window, same as the night before. His muscular body was curled tight within the confines of the frame. He nonetheless looked exceedingly comfortable.

 

Sighing, Luke admitted, “Perhaps I am. I had hoped to see the gardens, but…”

 

Tilting his head to one side, Memphis said, “Then you are going the wrong way.” He pointed to a staircase back the way Luke came. “Take the stairs down there.”

 

“Thank you, Prince,” Luke responded.

 

“Do not call me that,” Memphis corrected. Why did no one seem pleased with the title? What was it Luke did not understand, that made men distrust the taste of the word in their mouths? “Ah,” Memphis’ voice softened, “Memphis is fine. Unless we are at court, you should call me, Memphis.”

 

“Of course,” Luke apologized.

 

When Memphis turned again, to resume looking out the window, Luke took his leave, heading for the stairwell.

 

At the bottom of the staircase began another hall. Then another. Still, he could not find the gardens. Once he was sufficiently tired, sleep tugging at his eyelids, Luke retraced his steps, returning to his room to find rest.

 

\--

 

The next morning proceeded largely as the previous had, with the sole exception that Chris instructed Luke to wash after lunch and visit the court tailor. There would be more than enough time to have him fitted for armor later, but at least for tomorrow, he needed proper attire for the court.

 

Of course, tomorrow would be his introduction to the nobility, well, to the King. It was in Luke’s best interests to do as he was told. So after morning hours in the sun, practicing his coordination and fitness with the others, he excused himself to the bathhouse.

 

The baths were simple and utilitarian, ceramic tubs for soaking and then wooden stalls for rinsing. Luke only needed to make himself presentable enough for the tailor to remain unoffended, and time was short.

 

The attendant hopped to her feet, addressing him as “Knight,” and asking what he would require. Luke told her he only wished to wash quickly, before his next appointment.

 

With water already warmed by the hearth, all the woman had to do was fill the basin and the pressured showerhead for Luke. Once the water was distributed, soap and towel set aside, she excused herself, promising to help if he needed anything more.

 

She took her place at her station, back turned away from Luke and her feet up on the table, while she read to pass the time.

 

Stripping down, Luke readied himself to wash, setting his dirtied clothes aside. He hadn't thought to bring a clean set. Foolish.

 

As he was still scrubbing his skin raw, rubbing away the dirt from the morning, the door to the bathhouse opened again, the attendant jumping up to greet the next visitor, “Prince Memphis!”

 

Luke stopped his first reaction, to turn and greet the Prince as well, given his state of undress. Turning back towards his task, Luke tried not to eavesdrop as the Prince spoke with the attendant.

 

Prince Memphis ordered a bath to be drawn. “Another five minutes for the water, Prince,” the attendant relayed with good nature.

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

While the water heated, the attendant otherwise prepared the Prince’s bath, pouring oil into the tub, setting soaps and towels aside for his use. 

 

Luke finished scrubbing and pulled the cord to start the shower, rinsing the soap from his hair and skin. Once he was finished, he dried off briskly, wrapping the towel around his waist for modesty.

 

He waited for the attendant to finish pouring the water for Memphis, before asking after a fresh set of clothes? She resolved to find something for him, but she would have to look. Slipping out the door, she promised to not be more than a moment.

 

Standing in his towel, beside the front desk, Luke could just see Memphis out of the corner of his eye. He was unsure if it was more polite to say nothing, or engage in idle chatter.

 

In his last Kingdom, the Knights often took to washing together, quick and without much provocation. Luke was unaccustomed to such privacy.

 

But it was Memphis who broke the silence. “Don't let them dress you in a manner you will feel uncomfortable,” he said, no doubt, referring to Luke’s appointment with the tailor.

 

“That may be impossible,” Luke admitted. It would require time for him to adjust to the social norms of his new home. But, beyond that, while he took pride in his appearance, the level of decorative finery required for court was not exactly his preference.

 

Memphis at least offered, as a joke, “Don't be afraid to ask for tighter pants.”

 

“Very funny,” Luke countered, a twinge of memory fluttering in his chest. The teasing, at least, was familiar. He turned to face Memphis, lounging in the bath, covered in water to the center of his chest and smiling faintly.

 

“They suit you, is all.”

 

At that moment, the attendant returned with clothing for Luke.

 

\--

 

The tailor was an older woman, slender and quite beautiful still, with silvery hair and deep lines cutting across her sharp features. Her mouth looked too big for the rest of her face when she smiled at Luke, telling him to strip down to his small-clothes to be measured.

 

Luke did as much, standing precisely in the position she asked, feet spread slightly and hands at his sides while she took his measurements, interspersing conversation with directions of where to hold his hands.

 

“Do you like our home, so far?”

 

“Yes,” Luke responded automatically.

 

The tailor laughed, “You do not need to lie, child,” she wrapped her measure around his wrist, “I may be chatty, but I am also tight-lipped. You may always be honest here.”

 

Luke exhaled, answering again, “It is a wonderful opportunity.”

 

Taking the measurement from his shoulder down to where his cuffs would end, she said, “That it is. No doubt, great things are expected of you. Now, what colors would you like?” She tugged at his arm, gesturing for him to pick among the fabrics she had laid out beforehand.

 

“Am I not meant to wear the colors of the King?”

 

“Oh yes,” she explained, “Tomorrow you will wear red and white for presentation. Though,” she laughed, a silver bell in her throat, “I fear it will make you look pinker than you actually are. A common problem for blonds,” reaching up, she tugged at the front of Luke’s hair. “But there will be other functions where your dress code is not so narrowly prescribed. Pick something. It will not be ready for tomorrow, but I will make it for you.”

 

Luke had worn red and white before, it did not trouble him much to wear it now. Though, her comment about his pinkness made him rethink every occasion he had attended in formal dress. Had he looked a fleshy fool? 

 

The bolts of fabric were all finely woven, some of them quite glossy, others matte and bold. He let his fingers dart over each one, trying to select from what was offered. He did not wish to choose a color that might offend his new Kingdom, one that would make anyone question his loyalties. 

 

Finally, he settled his hand over a matte black, sturdy and simple. “This one then.”

 

She chided, “It will make you look very fair.”

 

Luke shrugged, “I like it.”

 

Patting him on the shoulder, the tailor pulled the bolt from the stack, setting it aside. “We are done here, then. Your attire for tomorrow should be delivered in the afternoon. I will make any additional adjustments then.”

 

“Thank you,” Luke said as he was dismissed. Pulling back on his borrowed clothing, he stopped for a moment, asking, “Do you think...the breeches, a little more narrow than what appears to be in style?”

 

The tailor smiled, “Of course.”

 

\--

 

“Are you certain you are not lost?” Memphis asked, seated in the windowsill.

 

“Quite certain, your directions last time were bad” Luke said, tucking his hands under his cloak. Finally, he had the courage to ask, “Why do you always sit here?”

 

“Why are you always searching for the gardens?”

 

Luke frowned, “I asked first.”

 

“I like the view from here. It's calming, I guess. The castle is very quiet. The walls are thick and it muffles the sound, though many people inhabit it, working at all hours. At night, it is too quiet, and I find it hard to sleep.”

 

“You grew up in the city, then?”

 

“No, quite the opposite, actually. My home was, is, small. It should be quieter than the castle, but, somehow, it's not.”

 

“Do you miss it?” Luke asked, hoping he has not overstepped his bounds.

 

“No, of course not. This is a tremendous opportunity for me.”

 

Luke hoped, in the darkness, the Prince could not see him scowl.

 

He had no pretensions, as he walked away, of finding the gardens tonight.

 

\--

 

There was no training in the morning, only a rowdy breakfast, that Luke had come to expect. Chris and Daley teased him mercilessly about his presentation at court later that evening. How it was sure to be both glorious and an utter disaster. Matteo was quieter, rarely joining in, but smiling at it all.

 

“Hopefully, the King will not be too harsh with you, and even if he is,” Daley assured, “it's mostly just his face. He won't make a final decision on you, until he's seen you at training.”

 

Luke let his shoulders drop, trying not to stay so tense, “He will be at training, then?”

 

“Eventually,” Chris explained, “he is very particular, but not always present. Once we get closer to the games, well…”

 

“He means well,” Daley corrected. Chris, seemingly recognizing his mistake, fell silent.

 

After breakfast, Luke retired to his room, napped, tried to read, pass the time. The tailor arrived in the afternoon, an assistant on her heels, carrying Luke’s attire.

 

“Now, strip,” she instructed, laying out the clothing on the mattress Luke had just vacated.

 

She was meticulous in dressing him, helping him into his snow-white trousers first. Indeed, they were cut tighter than Luke had seen others in the Kingdom, clinging tightly to his thighs and ass, but not in a way he found uncomfortable. 

 

The tailor commented, “Was this the style at your last home?”

 

A woman in her position would know it was not. But still, Luke answered, “I just think it suits me better.”

 

She helped him with the robin’s-breast colored tunic next, stitched along the seams with gold thread and adorned in the corner with the Kingdom’s crest. It was of a heavy fabric, that caught the light at particular angles. She had left the sleeves slightly too long and went to work hemming them a touch higher.

 

“See what I said,” she teased, “you look far too pink. This color never suits boys like you.”

 

Luke could only look at his hands, not his face, though now he was desperate to see what she had been suggesting.

 

The tailor’s assistant pulled a mirror from a cloth bag, holding it out for her to take, once she had finished hemming. “Look,” she held the mirror up with both hands. “Though I must admit, you otherwise look handsome….I would pick a different haircut in your place. But Knights can never be reasoned with, on that account.”

 

Luke reached for the mirror, but pulled his hands away, stepping back to get a more complete view of his attire. The tailor had done a fine job, the tunic precisely placed over his broad shoulders, tapering to his narrow waist and slim trousers. Having pulled a pair of dress boots from his luggage earlier, he slipped into them. Before he could bend to tie the laces off, the tailor’s assistant rushed in to perform the task for him.

 

“Can ruin the lines with creases,” the tailor tisked.

 

Dismissing her assistant, the tailor remained behind. “So, child, would you like to be honest with me today? How do you like our Kingdom?”

 

Again, Luke heard Adam’s voice in his ears, “It is a great opportunity. I am very happy for it.”

 

Frowning, the tailor turned away. She reminded him, before closing the door, that he better not wrinkle his clothing. She had worked very hard.

 

\--

 

It was Matteo who retrieved Luke, ushering him to the ceremony. Dressed as Luke was, in a red tunic and white trousers, Matteo only commented that Luke looked ready for the occasion.

 

Because Matteo was quiet, reserved, for perhaps the first time since arriving, Luke felt his own extroversion bubbling under his skin, wanting to fill the walk to the grand hall with chatter.

 

“So, what is the presentation like?” Luke asked, keeping his stride short to not accidentally rush ahead.

 

“The actual presentation will be brief. Dinner will be longer.”

 

Luke smiled, trying to expel the nervous energy that would not cease, “There will be dancing, won't there?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“Alright, okay,” Luke huffed down air. As long as he was not expected to stay seated for hours and hours, the evening would not be so terrible. Sure, he had to avoid making a fool of himself. But otherwise, he could at least be active.

 

Chris met them both at the entrance of the hall, beaming brightly as Matteo and Luke approached. Another tall man, dressed the same, was at Chris’ side. “Good, Luke, you didn't run out on us,” Chris said, before turning his attention to the other man. “Luke, this is Phil, Phil, Luke.”

 

Luke held out his hand to shake.

 

“Phil has only just arrived from the healers. Hopefully, he’ll stay intact long enough to reach his next games,” Chris chided.

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Phil smiled. “I should go on ahead. See you inside.”

 

Without a word, Matteo departed with Phil, slipping inside the hall and shutting the door firmly behind them.

 

“Well, I guess we may as well begin. The place is packed.”

 

“Are you to escort me?” Luke thought he was making a joke.

 

“More or less. Like a father giving away his daughter at the altar, eh? Except I guess I'm actually the one getting you? Not giving away?”

 

“Mercy, don't even joke about that,” Luke groaned. The idea of being a blushing bride was too much.

 

Chris clapped him on the shoulder, “Let us go.”

 

The attendants at the door drew both heavy wooden panels open simultaneously, ushering a hush across the assembled crowd. While they were seated at finely appointed tables, with matching red cloths and towers mended of white flowers, no food had been served. Many of them drank wine. All of them turned their attention to the doorway.

 

There must have been a hundred people in attendance, perhaps more. Certainly, not all of them would be nobility, but retired Knights, notable citizens of the Kingdom, those with enough coin to buy entrance to the gala. And all of them, each and every one, had their eyes fixed on Luke.

 

He could do this. He may have to do this again, in another Kingdom, for another King. A different Captain at his side.

 

When Chris stepped into the room, Luke followed suit.

 

The actual presentation was a blur. He shook King Van Gaal’s hand, stood beside him as he was introduced to the court and assembled crowd. A woman spoke briefly of Luke’s accomplishments before the transfer, highlighting his youth and potential worth to the games. Luke kept his smile fixed, scanned the room, without letting his eyes settle long on anyone. He was faintly aware of the Princes seated at the head table, to either side of where the King was to sit.

 

With the formalities over, Chris tugged at Luke’s shoulder, pulling him back from the front of the room, and to a table with a number of the other Knights. The spectacle of his arrival was over.

 

Over dinner, roasted bird and starch and pickled greens, Luke kept looking up to the King’s table, slightly elevated from the rest. Daley engaged in polite conversation with the woman to his right. Memphis mostly stared at his food as he ate, though the King frequently spoke to him in short bursts. Memphis’ expression never changed.

 

The meal concluded but the drinks continued. Dozens of people, none of whom Luke knew, wanted to steal moments of his time. Their questions were repetitive, but their smiles genuine, happy to meet the newest member of the Knights.

 

Luke indulged each one of them, though he began to grow restless. He squeezed his hands into fists, cutting his nails against his sweat-slick palms before releasing, trying to expel excess energy.

 

A tap on his shoulder roused Luke from his current conversation. Prince Daley stood behind him, his hair tied neatly back, off his shoulders. “Care to dance?”

 

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. He could not be seen refusing the Prince, and this provided a perfect opportunity to step away from the crowd of onlookers. Reaching down to his wine glass, he took a strong gulp before agreeing to the dance.

 

Daley’s attire was identical to that of the other Knights, save for a gold bar pinned above his crest and a black scarf, tucked into the collar of his tunic. “Do you prefer to lead or follow?” Daley asked, “I have been taught both.”

 

“At your father's insistence?” Luke joked.

 

Daley laughed, “It does come in handy.”

 

“It will be easier for me to lead,” Luke said, “heights…but is it proper?”

 

“You worry a great deal about formality,” Daley placed his hands appropriately, one on Luke’s shoulder and holding the second one for Luke to grasp. “Remember, I am Elected. If the population finds fault in my behavior, they may vote me out.”

 

Luke placed his hand at the small of Daley’s back, “And so they do not mind if their Prince follows, instead of leads?”

 

“It is only a dance, Luke, not a metaphor,” Daley rolled his eyes.

 

But on the crowded dance floor, bodies moving, some too stiffly, some with a great deal of grace, Luke found the opportunity to ask Prince Daley of social expectations. “So then, it does not matter if you prefer men?”

 

“I did not say I prefer men,” Daley laughed, “some are pleasing, some are not. Much like women. And before you ask,” he stated quite plainly, “you know you are attractive. But you are not quite my type. I only wished to save you from socializing.”

 

It was Luke’s turn to look aghast, “I must have looked very pathetic.”

 

“You did.”

 

The song ended; they all politely clapped. Now suitably “saved” Luke saw no reason to occupy more of the Prince’s time. But the question remained, “But...if one were to...prefer.”

 

Daley gestured to the room, “Do you see anyone objecting?”

 

“No.”

 

“There is your answer. Just behave decently, and you will be fine,” he patted Luke on his cheek with condescending humor.

 

Left alone on the dance floor, Luke realized he had little desire to leave. The activity had loosened him somewhat. But despite his earlier popularity, he was lacking for a dance partner.

 

Resigning himself to return to the table, a hand grabbed him at the shoulder, spinning him back around. “Mep-” they were at court, “Prince?”

 

“We should dance.”

 

Luke nodded. Before he could ask his question, Memphis supplied, “I prefer to lead.”

 

“Yes, of course,” Luke had suspected that Daley was only being kind. Princes should lead.

 

While Luke was not incapable of following, he was much less practiced with his feet. Possessing natural grace, as many Knights did, he could pick up the steps in time as the Prince lead them about the room.

 

Prince Memphis, like Prince Daley, had a golden bar above his crest, and a scarf, though white, instead of black. It stood out sharply against the delicate warmth of the Prince’s skin.

 

“What did Prince Daley tell you?” Prince Memphis asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead, somewhere at Luke’s chin.

 

Luke was honest, but not entirely forthright. “He answered my questions, about behavior at court. I should have asked them earlier.”

 

Memphis’ hand dipped low at Luke’s back, “You could ask me questions too. If you have them.”

 

To be polite, Luke struggled to find a question, but he could not deny the difference with this dance, as compared to Daley. How much closer their bodies wound together, the way Memphis’ hand rested just above the line of Luke’s trousers. How they fit together, despite their height difference being greater than that of Daley and Luke, or, perhaps because of it. Similar, but not exactly as they meshed together on the field.

 

Luke tried to breathe normally, but that only left him dizzy with Memphis’ subtle scent in his nostrils.

 

He knew before that Memphis was attractive, of course. It was obvious, with his broad, muscled frame, full lips, soft chin. But Luke found a great many men attractive. That did not mean he wished to bed all of them. His attraction now, did not mean he should think of bedding Memphis, who, for all he knew, was being just as polite as Daley was. Perhaps it was customary for Princes to dance with new Knights. There were many possible explanations. 

 

“I asked him about favoring men. And the acceptability of it. But, uh, obviously, now I know.”

 

“Of course, I should maybe ask if your last home was so accepting?”

 

“Knights didn't appear at court, like this. Our private matters were seldom in public.”

 

“Fair enough,” the Prince conceded. 

 

Where dancing with Daley had been friendly, relaxing, being this close to Memphis made Luke’s blood spike inside his veins, made him nervous when he spoke. “Do you...prefer?” Luke asked.

 

As the dance came to a close, Memphis answered, “Whatever Prince Daley said. Just, that answer is fine for me as well.”

 

Not a preference for men. Some men, maybe. But not Luke.

 

Not Luke.

 

Despite his being handsome. Because attraction took more than that.

 

Of course.

 

“Thank you, for the dance, Luke,” Memphis said, drawing his hand off of Luke’s back, skimming long and light against his side and stomach.

 

“Thank you, Prince Memphis.”

 

When Memphis disappeared back into the crowd, Luke turned quickly on his heels, in search of his discarded wine glass.


	3. Chapter 3

For once, Luke was tired enough not to require his evening walk. At least, he thought as much. He pulled off his boots, tossing them aside before starting on his dress tunic, too many clasps and buttons for tired fingers. Stripping down to his smalls, he flopped back onto the mattress, content to pull the covers over himself and await sleep.

But though his body was exhausted, and his mind somewhat cloudy with wine, sleep was still elusive, pricking at the corners of his eyes, but never centering.

Luke had to get more sleep. For the moment, he was skating by. But once the intensity of training started, he would need more than a few hours each night. 

Even if he were to walk, the castle would still be crowded with visitors, stalking the halls, gawking at the scenery. It wouldn't be a peaceful, if frustrating, walk towards the always out of reach gardens. No, Luke would find himself accosted by nobles and prominent citizens at every turn, rather than seeing no one, save Prince Memphis.

The Prince, who did not want him.

Luke had only realized his own desire tonight, curling in his stomach, until ready to strangle him with want. Memphis’ frame against his own, shorter, but no less strong, in a context other than training, had wound Luke tight.

It would pass. It was sure to pass. Of course. A fleeting attraction, Luke would have many more. He would have a swell of lust, where the other person felt the same. There was no need to pout like a petulant child over a man he could not have. Who did not want him.

Rolling from his back to his stomach, Luke tucked his hands under his body, stuffing his head against his pillow. The world dropped into darkness, his vision obscured in the pillow. 

There was the dull roar of nothing in his ears. He tried to think of it as a lullaby. Memphis was right, the castle was too quiet. Perhaps that was Luke’s issue sleeping as well? Maybe he should try for the gardens. Take yet another route? There had to be an answer. 

Pushing himself out of bed, Luke dressed as he did every evening, though his feet were sore and his arms tired. He wore his boots and pulled his coat on last.

As he expected, the halls were far from deserted, guests still stumbling about the public corridors. Tipsy and flush himself, Luke could not begrudge them their amusement. And hadn't he come out of his room to greet the noise, after all?

He started off again, vaguely thinking about the gardens. By this point, he had suspected some sort of magic was keeping him away. Unlikely, but not unheard of. But he could think of no particular use for such a curse. And he knew the gardens themselves were real enough. Memphis had mentioned them, though the directions he gave that night led nowhere.

If not an enchantment, it was Luke’s own shortcomings keeping him away. from the flowers While he had no particular skill for direction, he also did not think himself as deficient. 

Many of the guests smiled at him, acknowledging him as the reason for today’s particular gathering But, were the presentation not for him, it would be for someone else, shuffled from Kingdom to Kingdom in trade.

He should not have been surprised, when he passed Prince Memphis’ window and found it empty. But, for whatever reason, that stirred a great sadness in Luke’s stomach. It might have been the guests that kept Memphis away from his nightly perch. Either that, or he was actually tired enough to properly fall asleep. Good for him.

Looping around again, Luke found his way back to his room. He rested his hand heavily on the wooden door. Even after his rounds, he still felt uneasy, disturbed. But he had little choice but to push the door open.

In time, sleep found him, though the gardens still eluded.

\-- 

“Guess who is going on his first diplomatic mission!” Chris smiled, sitting down next to Luke on the common room couch he had sprawled across.

In an attempt to assure more stimulation in the evenings, Luke had taken to lounging in the common spaces after meals, rather than retreating to his rooms Even if he wasn't always actively engaged in conversation, it served him well to sit with the others, let the wash of excited chatter roll over him.

Daley came up behind the couch, leaning over to rest his folded arms across Chris’ shoulders, “You're going to have un, kid,” Daley smiled.

Luke perked up, “Diplomatic mission?”

 “Yes,” standing up straight again, Daley rounded the couch, coming to sit on the other side of Chris, who had stretched his arms across the backrest. “A tour of four villages. Kissing babies, shaking hands, smiling at the right people. You’ll be a natural.”

Luke stuttered, “I'm not going alone, am I?” That seemed an unreasonable expectation of him. Not only had he just arrived, he had no training in dealing with the public. Sure, he had participated in several games, but Adam had always kept him from having to talk too much. Particularly because he had been so young at his debut. 

But this wasn't his debut. And Luke wasn't so terribly young, anymore. Many men would only now be entering their first games. Luke had already seen three. 

“Of course not,” Chris explained, “You’re going with the Princes, and Juan and probably Anthony?”

“As much as the King’s aides argue otherwise, they like sending the pretty ones along with the Princes,” Daley rolled his eyes. “Which is why our illustrious Captain continues to shirk his publicity duties.”

“That's me,” Chris said drolly, “face of a ham.”

“You don't have a ham-face,” Daley shoved Chris in the shoulder. “Something drier, like a roast,” he tapped his finger against his bottom lip.

“So,” Luke started, “that's all that's expected of me? Show up, be polite?”

“Basically. It's simple. But more than that, it's not optional,” Daley stressed. “A wardrobe will be prepared for you. We leave at dawn. tomorrow Get some sleep.” Daley rolled his shoulder into Chris’ again, settling in to finish out the evening.

\--

Luke tried to sleep.

He really did. 

Telling himself not to move, not to head for the doorway., he held perfectly still It was futile. Perhaps it would be easier, on the road. The taverns and inns in which they were sure to stay on their travels would not be so quiet. So...haunted. Luke would sleep well somewhere new.

But for now, he only had to be fit for travel. For that he needed sleep. 

Staring up at the stone ceiling, Luke counted bricks in the moonlight from his narrow window. One, two, three, four. He needed only to make his mind quiet. Five, six, seven. is body was already exhausted. If only he would stop vibrating in place. If only.

If only.

Eight, nine.

Walking would not help.

Ten.

Memphis would be on the mission s well. Daley had been clear, both Princes were to be in attendance. It was best to seen by the public as frequently as possible, especially in the lull between games.

That would mean weeks with the Prince in close quarters. Standing by his side, looking chipper and bright and inoffensive. Great. Just great.

Luke groaned, covering his face with his hands. Counting bricks had gotten him nowhere. He was as restless as before.

Giving in, Luke thought of Memphis. At first, he saw the ard lines of Memphis’ body in his leather training kit, how the hide clung close to his body, sweat catching in the seams. Of course, Luke had seen the Prince in states of half-dress as well. Naked from the waist up as he changed. Luke knew Memphis was thick, defined, with black lines inked into his skin, carefully placed where his clothing could cover. Luke had not looked long enough to decipher the patterns. Staring would be improper.

What he was doing now, also improper.

He was supposed to shake this fever from his skin. But, perhaps, this would be the way to do it. Maybe this was why Luke had been so restless?

Well acquainted with taking care of himself, Luke had, perhaps, been overly efficient in his task since arriving at the castle. Blocking out all thoughts of other people, he would take himself in hand and rely merely on brute stimulation until he came. Not allowing himself the comfort of fantasy.

This had been a problem for him, before...thoughts of Knights he could not have. A Knight...who did not want him. Luke had been...so fond of Adam. But that unreasonable affection passed in time. Even after Luke had allowed himself to picture what it might be like, skin on skin, Adam warm and pliant under his hands.

If Luke had broken the habit of wanting Adam, he could do this now, find release, and still stir his interests away from Memphis. Perhaps it would even help? Indulging in his thoughts to ultimately let them go.

Kicking the sheets down to his shins, Luke shoved down his smalls as well. He was half-hard already, thinking of this in an abstract sort of way.

Luke curled his palm around his shaft, dragging down, then back up in a single, smooth motion. It was not enough friction to get him far, but he planned on savoring this moment. He did not wish to make a habit of this. 

He thought of the heat of Memphis’s body, the way his lips curled when he smiled Dark eyes, bright and open. And he would smile, right? Luke would be careful, attentive, running his fingers along Memphis’ sides, his arms, circling around to dark nipples. He could place his mouth against them, licking, biting until they were hard under his ministrations. Until Memphis breathed his name in hurried gasps, begging to be touched, lower, lower.

Luke came up on his hands and knees, like he had Memphis pinned beneath him. His full cock hung heavy between his legs. Shifting his weight onto one arm, he took his cock in his opposite hand, tighter, harsher than before. He imagined putting his teeth to Memphis’ neck, marking him as owned in a way Luke knew impossible. Bucking into his hand, Luke thought of rutting against Memphis’ prone body, slicking his cock between Memphis’ thighs, soaking in his heat and pressure and scent. 

He was alone in bed. He knew he was. But he wanted. He wanted so, very badly.

Memphis’ hands, gripping at his shoulders, pulling them both under, kissing and biting, finding pleasure in the friction. Luke fell forward onto his arm, breathing in against the mattress. He was close, so close, his cock swelling in his hand. Memphis saying his name, like he did on the field, when they're trying to keep pace. They could keep pace here too, Luke blanketing Memphis’ body; Memphis pulling him closer to their inevitable end.

Luke shifted his hips, whispering a name he shouldn't, spilling into the sheets.

He was breathing heavy as he came down, collapsing into the bed. His own cum was wet against his thigh, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Hair sticking to his forehead, Luke knew he must look a mess. But it didn't matter, he was alone.

That might soothe the burn. But at the very least, it helped Luke sleep. 

Behind his eyelids, he dreamt of the garden blooming, but he didn't even know what flowers grow in this Kingdom’s soil.

\--

The diplomatic party consisted of the two Princes, Juan, Jesse, and Luke. Jes explained that Anthony was granted a reprieve, as the healers wished more time with him.

“Don't be bratty now, just because you weren't first choice,” Prince Daley threw his arm over Jes’ shoulders, “You should get used to being second choice. It's a valuable skill in our profession.”

Jes only smiled, needling Daley in the ribs in retaliation. 

With the carriages ready, they split into two groups. Luke’s natural inclination was to follow Daley, but Jes walked beside the Prince, and Juan quickly hopped in after, leaving Memphis and Luke to the second coach.

“Don't act so disappointed,” Memphis chided, hoisting himself into the carriage and settling in.

“I'm not disappointed!” Luke called, hurrying up as to not be left behind. He threw himself down on the opposite bench, spreading his hands wide and taking advantage of the extra space.

Prince Memphis grinned, spreading out as well, “You are! You're beet red,” he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in their fullness. 

Heat rushed to Luke’s stomach, thoughts of last night flooding his mind. Now, he could not shake the idea of making Memphis smile and squirm.

“It's too warm,” Luke argued, pulling the pin from his coat and letting it fall open. The carriage was covered, affording them some privacy as they traveled. Surely, it was safe enough to loosen his garments, get some air into his lungs.

Memphis unbuttoned his coat as well, letting the flap fall open. Under the red tunic, less finely constructed than their formal wear, but no less bright, he wore a white undershirt, clinging tight across his chest. “The black suits you,” Memphis said, referring to Luke’s coat.

“Should I have worn red? I was not instructed to do so?”

Memphis shrugged, “Wear what you like? I'm supposed to always be in the colors of the Crown. But I don't think it matters for you?” 

“You're not sure?”

Memphis frowned, “I was not raised at court. And my Election was...sudden.” 

“You do not like being Prince?” Luke asked. At least here, the only one who might hear them was the driver. And perhaps he could not hear over the sound of the horses.

“It is a great honor,” Memphis responded, “and I will serve my Kingdom well. 

Luke chewed at his lip, worried that he had offended the Prince. 

They were silent awhile longer, before Luke could finally admit. “I'm terrified.”

Memphis frowned, “Of what?”

“This,” Luke gestured to the carriage, though he meant so much more. The responsibility that lay outside their little alcove of privacy. Perhaps it was selfish, to worry about what amounted to minor inconveniences, when the pressures on the Prince were so much greater.

Memphis tilted his head back against the carriage wall, exposing the line of his throat to Luke. Swallowing, his apple bobbed. Luke stared. Perhaps assuming that Memphis could not see. “I'm terrified too.”

Luke laughed, the tension radiating from his skin, swirling up and dissipating in the admission he could finally make.

“You think this is funny?” Memphis chided. “Did you lie, only to catch me in weakness?”

“No!” Luke interjected, “no, no, no,” he wiped tears away from the corners of his eyes. “I'm just, happy, I guess? That I'm not alone. I've felt so alone.”

Memphis scoffed, “Everyone loves you. They have loved you since the moment you arrived.” 

Luke wanted to argue that Memphis is wrong, but it was undoubtedly true that the Knights had been exceedingly kind to him. “It's not the same. And do not act as if they do not love you as well!” 

Tilting his head to one side, Memphis looked directly at Luke, holding his gaze. Luke could not look away.

“No, it's not the same. But it is not the Knights to whom I am accountable.”

“Then who?”

“Do you know why we are going on this ‘diplomatic mission?’” Memphis asked.

“I was told it is customary.”

“It is. But this one, this one is for me. I was Elected, yes. But I am not...popular. I was, perhaps, when my term was decided. But since then, I have fallen out of favor.”

“So you will lose your next Election?” Luke had been under no assumption that Memphis enjoyed his position. Daley always spoke of it as a chore, if an occasionally pleasant one.

Memphis snapped, “I do not care if my Election holds.” Realizing his mistake, Memphis softened his voice again, “but they call me...lazy, unworthy of the title. A waste...I do not...I do not care if I retain my title. But I will not be made a joke.”

Luke fell silent, not having the right words. All possible assurances were spun sugar in his mouth, cloying and without substance. But Memphis’ dark eyes held firm, challenging Luke to respond.

Perhaps Luke should have said that he was here to serve his Kingdom and, by extension, its Prince. But the formality of such a statement would be two steps back from the leap they had taken together, in the rattling confines of their carriage.

“Let's do this, then,” Luke said, “let's succeed. Even though we are afraid.”

Memphis smiled, settling back into a comfortable posture against the seat, “My thoughts exactly.”

It did not matter if their confidence was a paper shield, their bravado easily torn in two. What mattered was they could make their tattered fortifications look like the real thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, right. I started this ao3 account specifically because I wanted to write Memphis/Luke Shaw. This idea just sort of...hit me and I'm running with it. I would LOVE feedback in terms of other characters/pairings people would like to see? I'm clearly a United supporter myself (oh god, this season is a trainwreck already)...but I'm pretty open with shipping and very familiar with EPL/recent transfers out of EPL. Any other leagues...I'd be shaky. Oh, and the one pairing I won't do is Juan Mata/Ander Herrera. But basically anything else could be fair game?
> 
> Also while I've sort of made reference here to the breakup of that super talented Southampton team, I am sort of playing fast and loose with references to "actual timeline"....clearly. 
> 
> GOD it's been so long since I wrote AU-RPF. I'm rusty.
> 
> Last thing, this might have explicit content later...I'll change the rating when it comes up.


End file.
